


Am I Dreaming, or is that You?

by moonflowers



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Fluff, Humor, M/M, Prompt Fic, Tumblr Prompt, one shots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2019-07-18 16:39:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 12,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16122557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonflowers/pseuds/moonflowers
Summary: Collection of mostly unrelated one shots from Tumblr.





	1. Since I Don't Have You (A Few Years Later in California)

**Author's Note:**

> It's reached the point where I've got so many prompt fills knocking around, I wanted to post them here too. Mostly unrelated, mostly fluffy as heck. I'm not going to put all the AUs/tropes in the tags, but each chapter will be titled with something to let you know what's in it.  
> Continuing the grand tradition of titling one shot collections with quotes. I don't think there's a fic with this title already, but sorry if I've stolen yours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tiny thing not exactly set in but sort of inspired by flippyspoon‘s Venice Beach verse. The lyrics/song they’re dancing to is the 1993 Guns N Roses version of Since I Don’t Have You.  
> 

_I don’t have plans and schemes_  
_And I don’t have hopes and dreams_  
_I don’t have anything_  
_Since I don’t have you_  


“Dance with me?”

“Huh?” Steve glanced up from the magazine he’d been looking through as an excuse to not do anything more useful, blinds half closed against the last of the afternoon sun slanting into their tiny sitting room.

“Dance with me,” Billy said more insistently, got up from where he’d been sprawled on the carpet and held out a hand to him. Steve was pretty sure they’d danced together exactly zero times before; the nights they’d gone out and gotten blackout drunk and rubbed up against each other in clubs didn’t count. So his response was the first thing that came into his head at the suggestion. “Why?”

“‘Cause I feel like dancin’ with a pretty boy,” Billy said, sun catching gold in his eyelashes and mop of curls, and honestly Steve knew there was no refusing him, “my pretty boy.”

“Fine,” Steve rolled his eyes, let himself be pulled reluctantly up from the ratty couch. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to so much as it wasn’t something they did, and he couldn’t figure out what had so suddenly inspired the need in Billy.

“No need to sound quite so excited about it sweetheart.”

“Shut up.”

Billy laughed, throaty and deep, that gravelly rumble from his years of chain smoking that Steve felt a little bad about being quite so fond of. He was trying to quit now, but it’d left its mark. Steve felt himself relax into Billy’s hold, felt Billy melt a little against him in return, as they fell into a sloppy, informal attempt at a slow dance. Steve’s mom would have thrown a fit if she could see them - he’d had a few dance lessons once upon a time, for some dumb function at his parents’ club they’d made him attend when he was sixteen. He’d forgotten most of it now, though he could say with certainty it involved less grab-assing than Billy was currently dealing out. After a minute or two of trying and failing to get into some kind of rhythm, they eventually settled into a sort of swaying, made-up slow dance. Steve rested his chin on Billy’s shoulder, hand curled into the worn-soft fabric of Billy’s shirt, and tried not to feel like a middle schooler struck dumb in love.

Billy was humming along to the song to start with, the thrum of it against the warm skin of Steve’s neck. Then he was singing, low and soft and half-whispered in the back of his throat, the stubble on his jaw itching Steve’s face. He smelt like beer and gum, had gotten through a lot of it since he’d tried to quit smoking, spent a lot of his time angrily chewing in the car or at the beach. But by the final repetition of the chorus, he was belting out the words, head thrown back, screeching loud enough to rival Axl Rose himself. Before long, Steve was creased up laughing so hard that they were barely dancing anymore, and Mrs Rivera upstairs was banging on her floor to get Billy to quit his wailing.

“Stop,” Steve wheezed, slapped a hand over Billy’s mouth to silence him. Which was mostly pointless; the song was over and he was laughing too hard to keep at it anyway. He licked Steve’s palm.

“Ugh, you animal,” Steve wiped his hand on Billy’s shirt, kissed the corner of his grinning mouth. “Better not quit your day job just yet, baby.”  
“Fuck you, I’m extremely talented.”

Steve hummed. “Play it again?”

Billy looked genuinely pleased as the song started up over. “I thought you didn’t like 'em?”

Steve shrugged as Billy looped an arm round him to reel him in again. “They’re not so bad.”


	2. Detention

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lyledebeast asked for Harringrove and number 12 - You’re cute even when you make that face.

“You smuggling an animal in that hair, Harrington? I mean, no offence, but it’s looking fuckin’ ridiculous today.”

“God, shut up.”

“Seriously, not a single small, woodland creature? Chipmunk? Squirrel?”

“You’re one to talk with that goddamn bird’s nest man, Jesus.”

“I mean, why do you fluff it up so big? You compensating for something, Harrington?”

“Come on now Hargrove,” Steve said, settled back at his desk all smug, “you know that’s not true.”

Billy just cackled and screwed up a page from his notebook, flung it across the classroom to where Steve was sitting. It bounced off the side of his face and made his nose wrinkle in irritation.

“Ugh, the hell is wrong with you?” he leant forward to pick the paper up off the floor. “Asshole.”

In response, Billy made as gross a face at him as he could; rolled his eyes and scrunched up his nose and bared his teeth and let his tongue loll out. But Steve ruined everything before he could even get that good a kick out of it.

“You know, you’re cute even when you make that face.”

Billy felt his face go slack in surprise, felt an unexpected and annoying heat creep up into his cheeks as he went pink. He blinked at Steve, wondered how it was that this idiot, this beautiful, goddamn idiot, had managed to mess him up so bad. “Shit, Harrington,” he said, “you can’t just say - ”

“There a problem here, boys?” Mr Sanders came back into the classroom to finish overseeing their detention, coffee in hand, eyebrow raised, and waiting for a response.

“No, sir,” Steve said, all smooth and neat and perfect student, pleasant smile on his pretty face. Asshole. No wonder he never usually got detentions, being able to bullshit his way out of trouble with the teachers, the smooth talker. Billy could charm his way out of trouble with the best of them, but damn, Harrington. “No problem at all.”

“Good.” Mr Sanders barely gave them a second glance before he sat back down at his desk.

A minute later, and Billy felt something hit the side of his head. Scowling, he looked down at his desk to see the ball of paper he’d thrown at Steve in the first place. Bitch. “What?” he hissed across the classroom.

Steve just smiled all dopey at him, the big fucking dork, and nodded at the paper balled up in his fist. Billy looked down at it, rolled his eyes like Steve was the biggest pain in his ass, and un-scrunched the paper. There, in Steve’s dumb wobbly loopy handwriting, were the words -

_Can’t wait until later baby x_

Billy looked up, kinda mad, kinda pleased, and embarrassed as hell about how happy the whole thing made him, to see Steve smiling at him still. He attempted to throw his smooth veneer back into place and it only half worked, but it was Harrington, so it didn’t matter. So he grinned and winked, and hurled the paper right back at him when Mr Sanders wasn’t looking.


	3. Amortentia (Hogwarts AU)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #29 - You smell fantastic  
> I give you a tiny Hogwarts AU, featuring the classic ‘oh shit my amortentia smells like you.'

Steve was cutting it pretty fine when he made his way into potions. He’d overslept again and gotten dressed in a hurry, was wondering if he’d overdone it with the hair product in his panic. It was all he could smell. And hot chocolate actually, which was… weird. But whatever, maybe it was just something drifting across from the kitchens. And then -

“Ugh,” Steve flopped into his usual seat next to Nance, “does Hargrove have to use so much cologne? I could smell it all the way down the hall.”

“Um, Steve,” Nancy shot a glance at the chalkboard, the day’s lesson already written up, “maybe you should look at the - ”

“Seriously,” Steve said, rubbed at his nose, “it’s like, burning my nostrils.” He scanned the classroom, but couldn’t see Hargrove anywhere, which just didn’t add up. “Wait, where - ?”

“What I miss?” Hargrove swaggered in, red and gold tie hanging loose and standard smirk in place, and Steve finally looked over and saw the list of potion ingredients written on the board.

“Shit,” he buried his face in his book bag, wondered how the hell it could get any worse.

“And why does it smell like Harrington rolled in strawberries and broom oil and rubbed himself all over the classroom?”

Yeah, that about did it. The rest of the class started giggling, and Billy looked confused for a half a second, before he caught sight of the chalkboard and the cauldron simmering off to the side. Instead of getting embarrassed about it like a goddamn normal person, he turned to Steve, grinning like a kneazle, and draped himself all over his desk.

“Well well, if it isn’t the Prince of Hufflepuff house,” he said, all up in Steve’s face. “Anybody ever tell you smell fantastic?” Then, more quietly, “does it smell like me, to you?”

“Yeah,” Steve admitted grudgingly.

“Funny ain’t it, how it works.”

“Mm,” Steve rolled his eyes, “hilarious.”

“You wanna - ”

“Take a seat, Mr Hargrove,” the potions professor swooped in to shoo Billy away from Steve’s desk.

“Yeah yeah,” Billy said, waved him away as he made his way across the classroom. “See you later?”

“Yeah,” Steve said, and Hargrove’s face softened ever so slightly, “see you at lunch, baby.”


	4. Quidditch (Another Hogwarts AU)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #21 - Is this romantic enough for you?  
>  Soo hoppnhorn requested some more Hogwarts AU, and I got way too into it. There’s another part that I might actually turn into a proper fic because it got too long. But for now, quidditch.  
> 

Gryffindor were leading sixty points to twenty, which wasn’t much of a surprise considering that Steve, Hufflepuff chaser and team captain, was horribly distracted by the opposing team’s beater. It was the first time he and Hargrove had played against each other since they’d started doing… whatever it was they were doing. Steve wasn’t sure if Billy had always been this distracting, or if he’d kicked it up a notch on purpose to throw him off his game and earn Gryffindor a win. He looked better than ever; hair tied back and the top of his red robes left unfastened - which absolutely nobody else could have gotten away with - and his usual smug confidence coming off him in waves. Dick. Steve’s thoughts on the matter were interrupted though, when a bludger came straight at him, aimed square to the chest, before he spun out of the way at the last second.

“What the fuck?!” he looked across to see Hargrove grinning at him, bat in hand.

“Is this romantic enough for you, Harrington?”

“I…” Steve was clearly missing something. “What?”

“Thought you wanted me to take you out.”

“Oh my - ” Steve rolled his eyes. “Yeah, no, this is not what I meant, asshole.”

“What’s wrong with you?” Billy’s sister Max, in her first season as a Gryffindor chaser, sped past with the quaffle tucked under her arm, “can’t you two save it for later?” She was gone again before either of them could reply, but yeah, she had a point. Steve was about to flip Billy off and get back to the game when he spoke again.

“But you can see where I’d get confused, Harrington,” he said. “You’ve gone all cute and pink in the face, we’re all dressed up, and I’ve got wood,” he leered and patted the broom handle. “Seems like a date to me.”

“Can’t you be not gross for like two seconds?”

They were so busy bickering, that neither of them noticed the stray bludger headed their way until it hit Billy hard in the shoulder. Luckily they hadn’t been that high up, but Billy was still knocked off his broom and went down hard.

“Shit.” Steve sped towards the ground like a shot, his landing an absolute mess as he stumbled over to where Billy was sprawled out on the grass. “Billy? You okay?”

Hargrove was on his back, eyes screwed shut and breathing heavy, winded, but with no other obvious injuries, thank God. “Steve,” he said, voice hoarse, “I’ve gotta tell you something.”

“What is it?” Steve leant forward, pushed Billy’s curls back from his forehead. “Baby, what is it?”

“Your hair is really fucked up right now.”

Steve gaped at him for a second, outraged, before he pulled back to punch him on the arm. “You dick.” Without looking back, he jumped back onto his broom and was in the air again. “You definitely owe me a real date now, asshole!” he yelled as he went to join his confused team mates.

He heard Billy cackle at his response, looked over his shoulder in time to see him brush off Max and their coach’s insistence he should see the nurse, and jump back onto his broom. Idiot.


	5. Camp Counsellors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #1 - Nobody in the world has hands this soft. A camp counsellor AU because I’ve wanted it for ages.  
> 

“Fuck, this hurts,” Billy hissed, clutched at his bleeding hand.

“Well, it’s your own fault,” said Harrington, and Billy could hear the goddamn smile in his voice, the smug little asshole.

“No, it was not my fault Harrington. You pushed me.”

“You were being a dick to the kids,” Steve said as he pulled open the door of the sick bay, ushered Billy inside.

“We’re fuckin’ camp counsellors, it’s practically our job,” Billy spat back, allowed himself to be steered into the room.

“It’s your job to yell ‘Chewbacca’ at Dustin at breakfast every morning?” Steve said dryly.

“He gets a kick out of that shit Harrington, you know he does.”

“Yeah, no. Just - show me the hand, okay?” He shook his head. “I don’t want to leave the kids out on the lake too long with Tommy and Carol. S'just asking for trouble.”

“No,” Billy said, pissed with himself about how childish he sounded. “It hurts.”

“I know,” Steve said, a little softer, “but I can’t fix it up if I can’t see it, dumbass.”

“What the hell do you know about first aid Harrington?” Billy sneered at him. “I swear to God, you wouldn’t know a band aid from a tampon.”

“Okay, wow. First of all, we all have to pass that first aid thing before they let us on this gig, you know that. Second…” he looked away for a moment, licked across his upper lip.“I was home alone a lot as a kid. You figure stuff out.”

Distracted as he was by that piece of information, Billy’s grip on his own wrist slackened enough for Harrington to grab it. “Shit.”

“Just hold still okay, Jesus.”

“I hate you.”

“Mhm. Wow that’s a lot of thorns.” He bent to inspect the surface of Billy’s palm, scratched up and bleeding and still full of tiny little barbs.

“Yeah well done genius, that’s what happens when some dickhead pushes you into a thorn bush.”

“I did not push you into the thorn bush,” Steve said, not looking up from Billy’s hand. “I pushed you, and you happened to fall into the thorn bush.”

“Semantics,” Billy said. “Are you going to do this or what?”

“You’re real hot and cold Hargrove, anyone ever tell you that?”

“No.” They had.

Steve let go of him to open up a few drawers, dug through various medical kits until he found what he was looking for. Billy watched his back, the way he drummed his fingers while he was searching. Eventually, he turned around, triumphant, and held up a set of tweezers. Billy surrendered his hand again with a roll of his eyes, and Steve got to work.

“Ow! Fuck, Harrington.”

Steve sighed.“Look man, this is going to take a real long time if we have to take a break for you to cry between every pull.”

“Shut up.” Billy held still out of pure spite while Harrington pulled the next few free, glaring at him while he worked.

“You have really soft hands,” he said after a while. Billy could feel his breath on his wrist.

What. The. Fuck. “Was that your attempt at a pick up line Harrington?” Billy said when he’d recovered. “Because I have to say, I expected a lot better from King Steve himself.”

“No, I’m serious,” he wiped a smear of Billy’s blood off his thumb. “Nobody in the world has hands this soft.”

“Yeah well, they’re going to be covered in shitty little scars now, thanks to you.”

“It’s not going to scar, asshole. You’re such a drama queen Hargrove, Jesus.” He got to work cleaning him up now the thorns were all out, dabbing at the irritated skin with antiseptic and a cotton ball. He bit at his lip. “How are they so soft? Like, you’re always working out and fixing your car and stuff…?” he cleared his throat, looked back at Billy’s hand in his grip. “Sorry. It’s not my business.”

“Lotion, dumbass,” Billy said. “What the fuck else would it be?”

Steve snorted, and reached for a strip of bandage to wrap up his hand. “All done.”

“Uh,” Billy wriggled his fingers. “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

They were close, Steve’s gaze cast down to Billy’s lips. He could have counted the freckles across Billy’s nose, he was so close. Max had tried once - they’d gotten to thirty eight before the both of them had gotten bored and gone to the arcade instead. “I’ll uh,” Steve said, pushing himself away and heading to the door. “I’ll see you at the campfire later?”

Billy recovered enough to wink at him and ask - “You’ll save me a seat by you, pretty boy?”

“We’ll see,” Steve grinned over his shoulder, and was gone.

Billy couldn’t help but smile like an idiot down at his neatly bandaged hand. He was going to kiss the fuck out of Harrington later. Boy wouldn’t know what hit him.


	6. Hot Neighbour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #16 - Is that my shirt?  
>  Because flippyspoon said something about 90s hot neighbour AUs in some tags earlier and I wanted it, so I butted in and speed wrote this on the bus.  
> 

A new guy had moved in to the building. Steve hadn’t met him yet, but Carol had proclaimed him ‘smoking hot,’ a real bad boy, long hair and leather pants and built. Tommy had just glared and grumbled and said something about leather pants being dumb. Kali and Barb down the hall were in agreement that he looked like a total douchebag. Apparently he’d made the mistake of trying to flirt with Kali in the lobby, and she’d bared her teeth and stuck her hand in Barb’s back pocket. He’d only laughed and winked, and stalked off up the stairs. He was on Kali’s list now.

Vicky downstairs had thrown a welcome-to-the-building party as soon as he’d arrived, in a painfully transparent attempt to get a look inside new guy’s pants. She’d done the same thing when Steve had moved in, and… well, actually he’d fallen for it. Things were still a little frosty when they passed each other in the hall. But he hadn’t been able to attend the party for hot douchebag new guy, because he’d been away for a couple days visiting Nance and Jon. Which meant that a week later, doing laundry in the basement, Steve still hadn’t actually met the guy yet.

Walkman on and drumming his fingers absently to No Doubt, he was waiting for the dryer to finish. He had a date, and he’d not decided what to wear until the last minute, resulting in a load of laundry. He heard someone walk in behind him in a gap between songs, but didn’t look up until he saw a tanned arm out of the corner of his eye, opening up the dryer next to his. And… oh shit.

It must have been new guy. Carol was right; he was 'smokin’ hot.’ He was wearing the tightest jeans Steve had ever seen, big black biker boots and a spangly earring, his dark blonde hair tousled and teased and pushed to the side, allowing Steve the perfect view of the cut of his jaw. His faded Guns N Roses shirt had the sleeves cut off, making his thickly muscled arms all the more obvious as he dragged the clothes out of the machine. Steve hadn’t been out with a guy in a while but, if he wasn’t already about to do so with his date that evening, he would have happily broken his streak of chicks with this one.

“Take a picture pretty boy,” new guy said, not looking up, voice gravel-rough and smug like he knew exactly what was going through Steve’s head, “it’ll last longer.”

His usual smoothness completely obliterated, Steve mumbled an apology, hauled his clothes out the dryer and sped off. He had a date to get ready for - he was now running dangerously late - and he didn’t want to start it with his head already in some other guy’s pants.

***

It’d been a good date. Dinner was nice, the guy cute, and he’d kept grabbing at Steve’s thigh under the table. That, combined with the fact that Steve was still a little riled up after his run in with hot douchebag neighbour in the laundry room, made it pretty clear where the night was headed. The sex was fantastic. There probably wouldn’t be a repeat performance - the two of them hadn’t really clicked romantically - but it’d been… really fucking great.

Steve was still feeling pretty blissed out the next morning, when he’d thrown on the first clean shirt he could find out of the basket and stumbled down to the laundry room with his dirty sheets. So blissed out in fact, that he didn’t notice there was someone else in there until he’d started up the washer.

“Fun night?”

“Shit!” Steve jerked up to see hot neighbour looking at him, attention dropping to the hickey Steve knew was on his neck, pretty blue eyes lighting up as something fell into place in his head.

“It was you.”

“Uh, what was me?” Steve said, resisting the urge to rub at the love bite, ended up awkwardly itching at the back of his neck instead.

Hot neighbour licked his lip and grinned at him, sharp and biting and, fuck, gorgeous. “The guy getting pounded into next week in the apartment above mine last night.”

“Oh,” Steve cleared his throat once his mouth had caught up with his head again. Thinking back on it, he was sure he remembered hearing a bang on the floor as round two had gotten going, like maybe someone below was hitting their ceiling. “Yeah, I guess so.” He regained some of his composure and leant back against the washer, hips tilted just so. He smiled a little. “Not quite right though. It was uh, the other way around.”

New guy blinked, smirk fluttering to surprise, then settling back into something more predatory. “That so?”

“Mm.” Steve raised an eyebrow, pretty damn pleased with himself.

“Where are my manners,” hot neighbour sauntered across the short distance between them, thumb stuck in his belt loop, “you weren’t at Vivian’s party, and I never properly introduced myself.” He held out a hand. “Billy Hargrove.”

“Her name’s Vicky,” he corrected him without thinking, and took it. “Steve.”

“Pleasure to meet ya, pretty boy.” They were standing close, close enough that Steve could see the rise and fall of his chest - his very broad, muscled chest, goddamn - hands still loosely clasped. “I - ” Billy faltered, frowned at him. “Is that my shirt?”

Steve looked down at the plain black tee he was wearing, which actually yeah, did feel like it sat a bit weird over his shoulders, but it was definitely his. “Uh, no. Pretty sure it’s mine.”

“Turn around,” Billy said, brow still creased. Steve did as he asked, heard him snort out a laugh.

“What?”

“You saw Black Sabbath on tour in San Jose last year too then, huh?”

“No? I - ” Steve twisted to get a look at the back of the shirt. Sure enough, there was a list of '94 tour dates listed down the back. “Shit,” he must have grabbed it along with his stuff when he’d left in a rush the day before. “Fuck, sorry man, I - ”

“Don’t sweat it, gorgeous,” Billy cut him off, “I kinda like it on you. Also getting you to turn around was like seventy percent so I could get a better look at your ass.”

“Right.” Steve’s neck got all hot.

Billy hesitated. “You could give it back to me tonight, maybe?”

“Huh?” Eloquent, Steve. Fucking great.

“When you come over to my place for pasta,” Billy said. “And maybe some sex.”

“What?”

“Okay, definitely sex. I mean honestly, I’d probably put it above the pasta.”

“Sounds romantic,” Steve said, grinning like an idiot despite his best intentions.

Billy shrugged. “I’m just tryin’ to be honest. And it sounded like the guy you had over last night was having a blast.”

“He was,” Steve said, leant a little further into Billy’s space, “and so was I. You got a lot to live up to, Hargrove.”

“Sounds like a challenge,” Billy purred, “I like that.”

“Mm. One more thing, big guy,” Steve said.

“Yeah?”

“My mom’s Italian. You’d better not fuck up the pasta.”


	7. Hiding (in a barn, from demodogs)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #39 - I’m flattered you’re jealous  
>  I just really wanted them scared and in a barn *shrug*  
> 

“I could be on a date right now,” Hargrove hissed in the dark, twisted his neck to speak to Steve. “I had a date.”

“Yeah well, this isn’t how I pictured my evening either, asshole,” Steve said. They were standing back to back, Steve holding his bat and Billy a crowbar, watching the hastily barricaded barn door.

Hargrove snorted. “Yeah right, I’m sure your Friday night was fully booked. Fun filled plans babysitting that bunch of twerps.” He smelt overpoweringly of his cologne. And also kinda sweaty. Despite the cool moonlight cutting in through the gaps in the barn roof, the night was uncomfortably warm after their dash through the woods.

“Leave them out of this,” Steve hissed right back, “and who says I don’t have a date too?” He didn’t, but Hargrove didn’t need to know his actual plans involved stalking through the woods looking for trouble. And he had bigger things to worry about - like the shadows he thought he saw darting back and forth between the slats of the barn wall.

“Yeah, I doubt that,” he felt Hargrove shake his head, fluffed up curls brushing his cheek, hairspray irritating Steve’s nose along with the dust from old hay. “What, you jealous I got a date with Maria? That it, huh, pretty boy?”

“No,” Steve said, ignoring the lurch in his belly that came each time Hargrove called him that these days, “I am not jealous of you Hargrove.” He maybe was a little. He also hoped the horrible chittering he could hear outside the barn was an overgrown cricket and not a demodog.

“Oh, so you’re jealous of Maria?” Hargrove said. “Shoulda known you wanted a piece of this all along.”

“Oh God,” Steve said, hoping he sounded bored rather than panicked, because it was really not the best time for Hargrove to figure him out. “Shut up, dickhead.”

“C'mon Harrington, don’t feel bad,” Hargrove purred in his ear, and Steve fought the urge to shove him away and make a run for it, demodog waiting for him outside or not. “I’m flattered that you’re jealous though. Might even consider cancelling on the chick, now I know.”

And Steve knew he was only joking, was just pushing his buttons, chattering on because he was nervous, but it just wasn’t fair. “Seriously, now is not the fucking time Hargove, Jesus - ”

A loud bang at the door, a scraping sound and more frantic chittering cut Steve off. Aw crap. After the two of them had bumped into each other - Steve lurking at the side of the road with his bat and Hargrove presumably on his way to meet his date - and he’d dragged them into the old barn to hide from the ‘dogs, Steve had really fucking hoped they’d given up on him. Or that he hadn’t gotten enough sleep again, and he was imagining things. No such luck.

“Shit,” Hargrove swore, threw a panicked hand behind him to grab at whatever bit of Steve he could reach for reassurance.

“I told you they were out there,” Steve tried to ignore the handful of his thigh Hargrove was currently holding.

“Yeah no shit,” he heard Hargrove breathing fast. “What, what are they, exactly?”  
“They’re uh, they’re the reason we couldn’t tell you why the kids were hiding out at the Byers’ last November.” That was about as much detail as Steve thought he could manage for the moment. Luckily, it didn’t seem like Hargrove was all that hung up over the details either.

“Oh. Dangerous?”

“From past experience? Yeah.”

“Okay. Harrington?”

“Yeah?”

“I didn’t have a date tonight.”

“Me either.

"I know that, dumbass, of course you didn’t.” Hargrove shifted his weight. Out of the corner of his eye, Steve saw his grip on the crowbar tighten. “If these things don’t fuck us up… you wanna go get a beer? I think you and me might have a couple things to talk about.”

“Sure,” Steve said, and just like that he had another reason to hope the whole shitshow of an evening worked out okay.

“Cool.”

Before Steve could answer, they broke through the door.


	8. Billy Chooses an Outfit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #37 – You could always go nude  
> 

“Oh my God, they’re not even going to care,” Steve said from somewhere behind him.

Billy shot him a dirty look over his shoulder. “Did I ask you?“

“I mean it in the nicest way possible, baby,” Steve shrugged, smiling lop-sided, “but seriously, the last thing they’re going to be thinking about is what you’re wearing.”

That evening, Billy was flinging himself to the wolves and going with Steve to one of the kids’ weirdly secretive little game nights, to introduce himself to them, Wheeler, Byers, Byers’ fucking mom and the goddamn chief of police, as Steve’s ‘new secret girlfriend.’ Steve had, mercifully, already set them straight about the ‘girl’ part. And though he wouldn’t call it new anymore, he still probably qualified as secret, and they were both kinda over it. Within reason – if Billy’s dad ever found out, he’d probably have to move to Alaska or some shit. Steve was right though; from what he’d said before, Billy got the impression that they’d all been through some kind of traumatic shit together, and came out the other side with bigger worries than who Harrington wanted to shack up with. That it was Billy Hargrove he’d chosen to shack up with was likely to be more of an issue than his y chromosome or what shirt he picked. It just… mattered. The way he looked was a kind of armour, to Billy. “Yeah fucking right.”

“You could always go nude,” Steve added helpfully from where he was lounging on the bed, throwing a baseball up and down in the air as he waited, each smack of it in his palm making Billy want to hurl it through the window.

“Real fucking helpful Harrington,” Billy drawled, stripped back to his underwear again as he eyed the pile of shirts in front of him.

“C’mon man, it would hardly make a difference,” Steve said, “it’s more of a challenge to keep you fully clothed.” There was a rustle of sheets as he pushed himself up off the bed, drawing up close behind Billy. “And you wear your jeans so damn tight I can see each butt cheek all the way across the parking lot.”

“Your point?” Billy said, biting back a smile despite himself.

“Might as well cut out the middle man,” Steve was pressed snug all along his back, buttons on his polo pressing into Billy’s skin, hand sneaking down to take a handful of his ass over his briefs. “And I like it when you walk around naked.”

Billy snorted, tried to ignore the warmth in his belly at Steve’s almost whispered words and the weight of his hand stroking at his ass. “When we’re alone sweetheart,” he said, arched back into Steve’s touch a little more, “I’ll go nude any time you want.” He’d always gotten a kick out of it too, knew he looked good so why the fuck not. And knowing Steve was looking made it that bit more enjoyable. “But I don’t think your pack of nerds and their parents would appreciate my junk swingin’ everywhere.”

“Mm,” Steve said, rubbed his face on Billy’s shoulder and met his eyes in the mirror, nose wrinkled, “yeah, when you put it like that…”

“Yeah,” Billy said, gave Steve’s hand a quick squeeze before shoving him away, “now fuck off and let me pick a shirt in peace.”


	9. Three Times Billy Lets his Guard Slip

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @hoppnhorn you mentioned Harringrove cursing and I wrote a little thing, I hope you don’t mind :) Three times Billy lets his guard slip because Steve is just so great.
> 
> Completely forgot this existed until someone reblogged it yesterday. The first of two little updates to this lot today.

Billy was a great actor. He was used to playing the part of confident, brash, ladies man, when he was more or less the exact opposite. It didn’t look it on the outside though; he made sure of that, and never let anyone dig any deeper. Didn’t want anyone to see the brittle, pathetic, and downright scared boy he was in reality. And as for being a ladies man… well, that was just plain hilarious. But despite his best efforts, Harrington, Steve, had somehow seen through it all, and even had Billy willing to share those fragments he hadn’t quite managed to dig up for himself. Worst of all, Billy was actually glad about it, that there was someone he didn’t have to pretend for. But he kept up the charade for the rest of the world just the same, and for the most part he got away with it. Lately though, cracks were starting to appear, and he’d slipped in up in the worst possible places.

~~~

“I can’t believe you actually fucking did it,” said Billy, in complete honesty, because he really hadn’t thought Harrington had it in him.

“Yeah,” Steve said, looking a little self consciously up and down the empty locker room like he was expecting someone to jump out of a locker to point and laugh, “and it hurts like a bitch.”

“It’s amazing,” Billy said softly, genuine awe colouring his voice as he reached to touch Steve’s ear, “it looks fucking great, babe.”

“Don’t touch it, asshole,” Steve hissed and pulled away before Billy could run his finger over the small silver piercing in Steve’s earlobe, “it’s sore.”

“I wasn’t going to,” Billy lied, and Harrington snorted in disbelief.

“Yeah right,” he said, though the tiny uptick of a smile at the corner of his mouth said he wasn’t all that mad.

“Damn, Harrington,” Billy breathed, eye once again caught on the silver on his skin. He wanted to fucking lick it, although that probably would have been pretty nasty for the both of them until it was all healed up. So he compromised, and kissed him instead, felt the surprised little ‘o’ of Steve’s mouth melt into a smile when he kissed him back.

~~~

Harrington kissed like a fucking pro. Billy really shouldn’t have been surprised, but honestly he’d thought all that King Steve talk he’d been bombarded with when he’d first started at Hawkins High was just that - talk. Goddamn golden boy that he was, Steve had insisted on walking Billy home after their 'date,’ and their goodnight kiss had gotten a little more heated than planned. Steve had him pressed up against the wall outside Billy’s bedroom window, sucking on his lower lip, hand splayed over the warmth of his belly, the smell of his fancy hairspray tickling Billy’s nose. He was fucking giddy with it, head in a spin and warm all over, thought slowed to a treacly mess. But then a door slammed somewhere inside the house, and he was jerked back to his senses. He shoved him away.

“Shit, Steve,” he groaned, appalled by the brokenness of his own voice, let his head fall back against the wall. Max and Susan and his fucking dad were right inside, and he was sucking face with Steve Harrington outside the window. Fucking askin’ for trouble, that was.

“I know,” Steve grinned, looking over the moon despite Billy abruptly ending their make-out session, and wiped the spit off his chin. Classy.

“You gotta go,” he said, because Harrington couldn’t come in, they couldn’t risk getting caught, and he was pissed about it. It was an old irritation though and one he was used to. Keeping things from his father was a familiar aching annoyance these days, rather than the stinging hurt it once might have been.

“I know,” Steve repeated, ducked down to press another hard, close-mouthed kiss to Billy’s lips before he shoved him away again. “Goodnight.”

“Fuck, stop it,” Billy glared at him, “goddamn pretty boy always gettin’ his own way.”

Harrington smiled at him again, peered up from under his messed up hair, face half in shadow from the porch light, but kept his distance. “See you tomorrow, handsome.”

Billy watched as a bashful but pleased looking Steve waved over his shoulder before he stuck his hands in his pockets, jogged off down the street and into the night.

~~~

“For fuck’s sake Steve,” Billy hissed at him, quieter than he would have liked, but mindful of the group of kids a few feet away. “The fuck did you go and do that for, you complete fucking idiot.”

“I’m fine,” Steve said, though his face was pinched in pain and he kept a hand pressed tight to his side, blood smeared between his fingers, “it just… nicked me a little. It’s barely a scratch, babe, come on - ”

“No!” Billy said sharply, poked him in the chest. “No. You don’t get to say that. You can’t just fucking brush this shit aside, Steve, what if you…” What if he’d gotten really hurt, what if he’d died, and Billy was only so pissed at him because he was so fucking scared of that happening. “Fuck, Steve,” his voice cracked, and he hauled him in for a kiss, ignored the hot tears smearing on his cheek, hoped it got the fucking message across.

“Billy,” Steve mumbled against his split lip, pulled Billy in closer to kiss every part of his face he could reach, nose, cheek, jaw. They were half hidden behind a tree, the kids too busy excitedly reliving the demodog fight to notice them. But then they got too close together and jostled the gash on Steve’s side, making him gasp in pain and jolt them apart. “Shit, that hurts.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Billy said, shaking his head, “always gotta play the hero huh, pretty boy.”

“Hey that’s - ”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, took hold of Steve’s hand to start tugging him back towards the car, yelling at the kids to haul ass, “let’s go get you patched up, idiot. But you owe me a kiss later..”


	10. Dads

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I woke up this morning and wanted to write about dads. #2 – You look like you need a hug.  
> The second of today's updates :)

Billy didn’t mind that half the moms at Anna’s school openly lusted after him. Hell, he actively encouraged them any chance he could get. He barely went a week without one of ‘em handing him a box of cookies or banana bread they’d baked for him and Anna because: _“it must be tough, raising Anna without her mom.”_ They were right, it fucking was tough, and a box of overdone chocolate chip cookies wasn’t about to fix that. Not that that would stop him from eating them camped out on the sitting room floor with Anna, watching Homeward Bound for the eighty-fourth time. She was his everything, good times and not so good.

The only parent that wasn’t drooling over Billy in the school parking lot just happened to be the one he was drooling over himself. He was fucking nauseated with himself actually, gone all soft in the head over, _“please, call me Steve.”_ All glossy hair and warm eyes with tiny little laugh lines all around, who smelt like warm vanilla and new car and had a smudge of blue paint on his cheeks from his son’s art project gone awry. Yeah, Billy’d been screwed since the first day of school.

“Daddy!”

He looked down just in time to stop his five year old from throwing her arms around his legs, fingers covered in a mess of peeling glue and green glitter.

“Woah, hold up there angel,” he crouched down in front of her, took a hold of her hands to turn them palms up, “forgot to wash up after class, huh?”

Anna blinked at him, fluffy blond curls a mess, “you looked like you needed a hug.”

“I did?”

She nodded, wiped at her nose. “You looked sad.”

“Oh.” He shot a careful look over his shoulder to where his attention had been fixed moments before Anna had come bounding over. On Steve ‘please call me Steve while I drag this handshake out a moment too long and smile at you like I actually am happy to meet you and not just saying it’ Harrington. And he was smiling again, wide and dopey while his son waved a papier-maché… lizard? in his face. Without his permission, Billy felt his face soften in response.

“You’re doing it again!” said Anna insistently, tugging on his sleeve.

“What?” Billy snapped his attention back to her, almost overbalancing and falling on his ass. “No, I’m not sad, sweetheart. Daddy was just… daydreaming, yeah?”

“Oh,” Anna frowned, thinking it through a moment before her face cleared again, “okay. Can I still give you a hug though?”

“Of course you can darlin’,” Billy hauled his little girl into a bear hug, green glitter and all, grinning at her squeal of delight. He span her around, sweeping her wispy hair out of his face only to see Steve watching them across the parking lot, same dumb smile Billy’d been wearing a moment ago directed right back at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God I want to write more of this. Wouldn't really know where to start though.


	11. Dads 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, more dads?

If Billy could’ve gone back to tell his high school self that ten years later, he’d be sitting happy as a clam at the back of the gym watching his five year old daughter’s class recital, he’d have laughed in his own face, and maybe thrown in a punch for good measure. But there he was. It sucked that her mom wasn’t there; she would have gotten a pretty big kick out of it. But she’d stayed behind when the two of them had moved to Indiana, that was kind of the whole damn point. He felt oddly victorious too, as he sat there watching the kids get into position up on the stage – by merely showing up, he was better father than his own had ever been. It might have sounded stupid, but that was the sort of dumb little thing that could get him through a bad day.

The kids were all in place, a handful of them waving to their parents in the crowd despite their teacher’s impatient huffing. Anna was among them. She was playing a tree or some shit, a made up role if Billy’d ever heard one, but she was fucking killing it, grinning at him with a tooth missing, and still waving. He didn’t think he’d ever been prouder of anything in his life. About two minutes in – Billy still wasn’t sure what the story was, it seemed to be several fairy tales mashed together – someone shuffled awkwardly in through the side door and made their way to the back.

“This seat taken?”

Billy looked up to see none other than Steve smells-like-coffee-and-warm-vanilla-and-has-a-smile-to-make-Aphrodite-faint Harrington, looking a little frazzled and gesturing to the plastic chair at the end of the row. He blinked, and fought back a delighted smile at his own fucking good luck. “Be my guest.”

“Thanks man,” Steve looked relieved, flashed him that smile, and settled into the chair. Billy could have moved up a little, shifted a bit so he wasn’t sprawled out quite so much, his knee definitely in Steve’s space and almost touching. But he was selfish enough not to. “I had to work late. What did I miss?”

“Not all that much,” Billy said, voice low to avoid the wrath of parents videotaping their kids’ performances, “your kid got a big part?”

Steve shook his head, pulling off his jacket and trying to smooth his hair down. “One line. But he was getting pretty worked up about it. Made me practice it with him all Saturday afternoon.”

Billy snorted out a laugh and Steve joined in, loud enough that one of the teachers shot them a dirty look from the sidelines. “Cute.”

They fell quiet after that to pay proper attention to the kids. It seemed to be going off okay, only the usual stumbles and forgetting of lines that was expected. Though admittedly, if it wasn’t for his own baby girl up there, Billy’d be bored out of his mind. That and the fact that Steve every-PTA-mom’s-dream Harrington was fidgety as hell. He kept jogging his knee, enough so that it’d occasionally knock against Billy’s, smart work slacks on denim. He wrung his hands a lot too, kept running his fingers through his hair, a whole array of nervous habits that put Billy’s occasional nail-biting to shame. Billy couldn’t hold back the self-indulgent thought that perhaps he’d be a little more chill if someone was holding his hand.

“Here we go,” Steve said under his breath as his son - dressed up as some kind of bird? - stepped to the front. He delivered his one line stiffly and frowning, but perfectly memorised, and Billy felt Steve sigh out in relief when he finished. When he looked back to the stage, Anna was waving at him again, and he raised an arm to wave to cheerfully back. He saw Steve grinning out of the corner of his eye.

When the show was over, the two of them clapped along with the rest of the parents. And Billy, feeling unexpectedly buoyant and a bit like his old flashy teenage self trying to impress a girl, stood up and whistled loudly when his little girl took a bow.

“You’re really something else, huh?” Steve said as Billy settled back down in his seat.

Billy just shrugged, teachers ushering the kids off of the stage and parents starting to file over to collect them. He felt like he’d given a bit much of himself away a little too quick, and retreated into haughty cockiness out of habit. Though Steve, apparently, was oblivious to it.

“Well, it was good to see you,” he smiled at Billy as he stood, all big and open and good fucking God, his eyes. “I’ll see you around?”

“Sure,” Billy gave him a nod, partly proud for not falling all over himself to get more of Steve’s attention, and partly annoyed at himself for not making it clear that he wanted it. His curt response didn’t seem to phase Steve I-look-fucking-spectacular-even-in-my-rumpled-work-clothes Harrington though.

“Thanks for saving me a seat,” he winked, and suddenly Billy felt a lot less like he had the upper hand.

He disappeared into the crowd of other parents, and Billy slowly stood and went to find Anna, still trying to figure out what had just happened. She found him first, barrelling into his legs hard enough to make him stumble back, before he scooped her up to hug the hell out of her.

“Did you see me?” she said, loud enough to make people turn and look at them, tugging on his jacket collar, “was I good?”

“You were great,” he hid his embarrassingly proud smile in her hair, “a regular little star.”

“Um, I think you got confused, daddy,” she said, peeling herself away to look at him seriously. “I was a tree.”

He laughed, and it was on the tip of his tongue to call her a smartass, before he saw that one mom on the PTA that really hated his guts and would probably take it as an excuse to write some kind of official complaint at his mere existence. He wouldn’t give that bitch the satisfaction. Also that his daughter was five, and deadly serious. “I know you were, stinkbug. You were the best tree up there.”

Giving her one last squeeze, he set her down so they could head out to the car. But then he caught sight of Harrington across the room now that the parents had thinned out a bit, standing with his son and a slim lady with fluffy brown curls that he assumed was the kid’s mom. Which meant that the man with his arm around her and holding a video camera must have been Steve’s replacement. They all seemed comfortable enough with each other, none of the palpable and frankly fucking boring tension that radiated off of other separated parents at pick-up time. Billy thought he recognised them both from collecting the kid before, if only because he’d been keeping an eye out for Steve so-perfect-he’d-make-your-mother-weep Harrington, and noticed they were definitely not him. Fucking embarrassing is what it was, how eager he was for a smile or wave from him at the school gate. It was that same eagerness that fed his curiosity, made him ask Anna on impulse –

“You know that kid over there? One in the bird costume?”

Anna followed his gaze, screwed up her nose. “Tyler?”

“Sure. Those are his parents, right?”

“Ah-ha,” she said, already losing interest in the conversation, poking at her nose in an attempt to make herself go cross-eyed. “His mommy, and his daddy Jonathan, and his daddy Steve.”

“…Right.”

“Can we have ice cream now?” Anna said. “You said we could have ice cream if I did good.”

“I sure did, angel,” he said, forcing himself to look away from them and back to his little girl. It wasn’t that unusual for a kid to call both their father and stepfather ‘dad,’ right? Confusing for the kid maybe, but not unheard of. Any other explanation was… more than Billy could concentrate on right now. “Let’s go get your coat, huh?”

“Okay! First one to the car gets to pick the flavour!”

Billy already knew he was going to let her win. And he already knew that even if he didn’t he would have picked mint chocolate chip. That was her favourite.


	12. Distraction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #32 – Don’t touch me while I’m trying to fall asleep.  
> Really tiny but I like it.

“Harrington!” Billy hollered from the other side of the apartment. “Get your ass in this bed.”

Steve jolted from where he’d been staring out of the window. Staring, not looking, because there was nothing to see – nothing but the dark, empty street, and the streetlamp that had been flickering on and off long before they’d even moved in. He chewed his lip to keep in a smile. Billy was good at bringing him back when he drifted off. “Coming,” he called back, and left the kitchen.

The lights were already out in the bedroom, Billy sprawled on his front and clutching the pillow under his head. “Fucking finally,” he mumbled into the sheets when Steve clicked the door shut.

“Sorry baby,” Steve said as he stripped off, “just one of those nights, I guess.”

Billy muttered something that was completely swallowed up by the bedding, hair a tousled mess over the pillow, and facing away from him. He didn’t move when Steve slipped under the sheets next to him. Which frankly, Steve wasn’t having.

“What,” he said, hand on Billy’s shoulder and kissing the nape of his neck, “no goodnight kiss?”

Billy wriggled and groaned in complaint. “Don’t touch me while I’m trying to fall asleep, asshole.”

“You sure?” Steve said, grinning into the kisses he was dropping across Billy’s shoulders, edging closer to plaster himself to the length of Billy’s bare back, breathing in the smell of coconut shampoo and motor oil.

“Yes,” Billy huffed. “I gotta get up in…” a pause while he looked at the clock on the nightstand, “five hours. So stop fuckin’ distracting me.”

“Mm,” Steve pushed his leg between Billy’s, rested his chin on his shoulder. “You’re cute when you’re grumpy.”

Rolling over so they were chest to chest, Billy scowled up at him in the dark. “I hate you.” The way he slumped forward to lie half on top of Steve, burrowing into him, said otherwise.

Steve snorted into Billy’s hair. “Get some sleep baby.”


	13. 4th July

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #6 – Can we share the blanket?  
> So instead of something wintery like I planned, I ended up with a fourth of July situation.

Steve had offered to make the last minute run into town for Joyce. While everyone had been distracted watching the parade, the dog had snuck into the kitchen and grabbed the pack of hot dog buns, eaten half and dragged the rest across the yard. It was late afternoon and he’d ended up being the only one without anything much to do; everyone else was already gathered at the Byers’, Joyce had started cooking a few things and Hopper about to fire up the grill. So he’d driven into town to Mr Bryant’s – the old man never shut his tiny convenience store, holiday or not – to pick up some more. 

He was on his way back to the car, crossing the street among the scattered confetti and dropped food and ketchup smeared napkins left behind after the town parade, when he saw Hargrove. The other boy was sitting on a low wall by the parking lot, cigarette in hand and curled in on himself. He looked kinda like shit. Not in the sense that he looked any different than usual in his hair or clothes or face, but the way he was sitting, his whole posture, screamed defeat. Steve knew the feeling. The two of them were drawing near to the end of school on an okay note, not exactly talking but also not trying to kill each other in the halls. They would nod from their cars when they crossed paths picking up the kids, sometimes spoke briefly to sort rides out. Nothing special really, to the casual observer, unless you held it up next to how things had been between them before. 

“Harrington,” Billy said as he approached, eyes downcast and fixed on the asphalt. 

“Hargrove,” he said, coming to a stop a few feet away. “Uh… what are you doing?”

“Why are you here?” Billy said, ignoring his question. “Thought you’d be up at that creepy-ass house with the rest of the freaks.”

“The dog ate the hot dog buns,” Steve held up the bag, “I came to get more.”

Billy snorted a laugh into his closed fist, though Steve couldn’t see what was so funny. “Of course you did.”

“You wanna come?” he said, instantly kicking himself for giving in to the impulse. Of course he fucking wouldn’t. But it eased Steve’s conscience to ask it, so. 

Billy just laughed at him again, though this time it was meaner, brittle, cracked around the edges. “Now why the fuck would I wanna do that Harrington?”

“Sit around here by yourself if you want, asshole,” Steve shrugged, gestured to the empty, trash-strewn street, “but it’s gotta be better than this, right?”

Hargrove narrowed his eyes, blew out a long stream of smoke. “You know what,” he said after a considerable pause, stubbed out the last of his cigarette on the concrete, “for once, King Steve, I think you might be right.”

“That so?”

“Yep,” he stood, stretched out his shoulders, tight white t shirt pulled tighter still. “Lead on, amigo.”

“Right,” Steve felt like he was still waiting for the other shoe to drop, “uh, this way.” He started back towards the Beemer, Hargrove keeping step beside him.

“So, enlighten me. Why do you all hang out at the Byers’ place instead of the bonfire like everybody else in this shitty town?” he said as Steve unlocked the car.

“It’s nicer,” he said. And they could talk about stuff without anyone listening in, which he was probably about to ruin by bringing Billy along. Joyce wouldn’t mind, he knew that much, but the kids would be pissed with him. Honestly, he hadn’t been expecting him to say yes.

Billy just smirked and fluttered his eyelashes at him before he climbed into the car. “I’ll believe that when I see it, sweetheart.”

#

Afternoon made the slow shift into early evening, the house and back yard awash with the smell of food and the kids bickering. It was… a confusing few hours, to say the least. Steve had been right about Joyce; she hadn’t minded an extra guest at all, seemed genuinely pleased to meet Max’s big brother. He’d been right about the kids, too. Will hadn’t seemed bothered, and neither had El. Max just appeared more confused at her step brother’s presence than anything else. Lucas looked wary, Dustin straight up outraged, and Mike looked more sour than Steve had ever seen him. It was kinda nice though, to have that look directed at someone other than him. But the whole lot of them spent the afternoon giving Steve and Billy shifty looks, like they were waiting for a repeat performance of last November. 

Steve felt completely out of step, and yet oddly steady at the same time. It was like they were… dancing around each other or some shit, always in each other’s orbit but never touching. He’d look up from where he was carting another load of hotdogs out to Hopper, and see Billy already watching him, up to his elbows in dishwater alongside Joyce. He handed him over a beer without a word, and Billy took it without a reply. But the weirdest moment of all, the one that made Steve sit up straight and think oh, was just after they’d all eaten. Steve had been heading into the kitchen with dirty plates just as Billy had been heading out for a smoke, the both of them coming to a stop in the doorway, hesitating as they tried to step around each other. It was Billy who stepped back in the end, rolling his eyes and going a little pink, jerking his head towards the kitchen.

“Haven’t got all fucking day Harrington,” said Billy. “Stop fuckin’ around.”

Steve smiled despite himself, shaking his head as he stepped deliberately into the kitchen. “Thanks, Hargrove,” he said, and added, just to see what Hargrove would do, “very gentlemanly of you.”

“I’m the perfect gentleman, pretty boy,” Billy said, putting an unnecessary hand on Steve’s hip to keep him and the stack of plates balanced, to edge him to the side so they could go past each other. There was plenty of fucking room. And yet Steve found he wasn’t mad about it.

“Sure you are.”

#

Hop was getting ready to set some fireworks off in the yard, the kids all clustered around him and fucking about with sparklers. Steve spotted Billy lurking off to the side, sitting on one of the old plaid blankets Joyce always fished out for these kind of things, legs stretched out in front of him. It reminded him of the way Billy’d looked earlier when he’d found him in town – distant, closed off, and sorta lonely. And sort of how Steve felt, sometimes. 

“Mind if we share the blanket?”

Billy looked up at him, startled, eyes wide and almost constant frown temporarily smoothed away. It was back again almost as quick though, eyebrow raised and unimpressed by Steve’s mere existence. “Knock yourself out, Harrington.”

“Thanks.” He sat down heavily, getting a little bit of a kick out of the way Billy curled his lip and looked affronted, like a cat woken up from its nap.

The fireworks started, of a good enough quality that Steve was questioning how exactly Hopper had gotten hold of them, Joyce hovering nearby and Nance and Jonathan holding hands. The kids shouted and leapt around with every bang and flash, everyone distracted enough so that they wouldn’t look twice at the two boys sitting on the blanket, or what Steve was about to do. He only hoped he hadn’t read it all wrong.

He ducked to the side, giving Billy enough time to shy away or punch him in the face or whatever, and pressed a kiss to his cheek, just catching the edge of his mouth.

When Steve moved back, Billy was frowning at him, mouth a little open and face lit up green, pink, gold. “You son of a bitch.”

“I – “

“Couldn’t even get that right huh?” he said, the flashes and sparks throwing his face into stark shadow. It was probably just a trick of the light, but it looked more like he was smiling. “Good old romantic King Steve, went in for the kiss on the cheek instead of what he really wanted.”

“You dick,” Steve said, fighting back a smile of his own once he realised he wasn’t going to get socked in the face, that Billy wanted the same thing as he did.

“I know, baby,” Billy said, eyes half shut and voice low, leaning in close. “Kiss me again. Properly.”


	14. Sharing a Bed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi I’ve written approximately eight thousand sharing a bed fics now. But I couldn’t resist doing another little drabble when I saw the prompt list. Written for the harringrove week of love, but I didn't want to post it as a stand alone fic so here we are. Not so much bed as floor, but details. Unoriginal as fuck.

Steve couldn’t sleep.

The lab was after them again, for reasons Steve hadn’t quite figured out and no one had filled him in on just yet, and they were all staying at the Byers’ overnight. Hopper had driven off that evening to pick up some friends of Eleven’s or something – again, he wasn’t sure of the details – and would be back with them early in the morning to work on a new plan of attack. None of them had been eager to split up, all on edge at the prospect of more trouble tomorrow. So, the Byers’ it was.

Steve was sleeping on the sitting room floor.

The couch was too short for him to lie out flat on, and he didn’t fancy the sore neck that would come with scrunching up in one of the armchairs. The kids were all in Will’s room, on Joyce’s condition that the door was left open, seeing as El and Max were there too. Nancy was sleeping with Jonathan in his room, which was fine, but still not something he really wanted to think about. It was part of the reason he hadn’t managed to fall asleep yet; sifting through old memories. Things like how long it had been since he and Nance had slept under the same roof. It wasn’t like he was feeling bummed about it or anything, just… everything had changed so much.  
Another, and maybe less dumb reason sleep had so far eluded him was that he was still feeling kind of on edge after their near miss with the lab earlier that day, and the thought of what new horrifying bullshit might unfold tomorrow. The fear that it might all start up again. But that particular fear was one he was getting pretty good at living with. The third and final, and most perplexing reason that Steve lay awake, was that he was sharing the small patch of the Byers’ sitting room carpet with Billy Hargrove. Who was lately less Hargrove, and more Billy.

Steve didn’t like sleeping alone.

But as much as he disliked it, he was used to it. Used to a silent house and an empty bed. And that, paired with the tension and trying to sleep in an unfamiliar place, made the shifting weight of another body next to his distracting. He tried to ignore it, smushed his face further into the musty cupboard smell of the floral pillowcase.

“Harrington,” came Billy’s voice, oddly weighted in the shifting dark, and thick with sleep, “would you stop fucking about and go to sleep? Damn.”

Steve didn’t hate him anymore.

If he ever really hated him at all. They were friends. He’d hung out with Steve long enough, and knew enough, that no one had freaked out over him getting tangled up in all their shit, or joining their grim sleepover. Steve had expected a token resistance from Dustin, if no one else. But there Billy was, stretched out right behind him, hot and solid, smelling of toothpaste and sleep and faded cologne. And he could have blamed it on the pressure of everything else, how much he wanted to say fuck it, to roll over and pull the other boy close. Perhaps it was a little, live in the moment in case they all ended up dead tomorrow, and all that crap. But it wasn’t just that, and he knew it.

“It’s not that easy, asshole,” Steve sighed into the pillow. As much as spending the night alone would have driven him nuts, he wondered if he’d have been better off at home. “It’s… it’s been a tough day.”

“I know,” Billy said, barely above a whisper, and for a moment Steve thought he was off the hook. He should have known better. “Might be easier if you fuckin’ relax though, I can feel the tension coming off you from over here.”

“Shut up, Hargrove,” Steve huffed and settled more firmly on his stomach, bare knee scratching on the carpet, and face turned pointedly away from him.

“Whatever, man.” He heard the pile of sheets and blankets they were huddled under rustle as Billy shifted around behind him.

Steve tried to sleep.

But after less than five minutes, during which Steve was acutely aware of every tiny movement he made – every too deep breath, move of his head, when his foot gently knocked into Billy’s calf – Billy had apparently had enough.

“Jesus fuck, Harrington,” Billy said, too loud in the silent house.

“What now?” Steve hissed.

“You’re still fussing – “

“I’m not – “

“Just come here.”

“I – “

Before Steve could get another word in, Billy had scooted up behind him. Steve was lying sort of on his side and sort of on his front, Billy’s arm suddenly around his middle and thigh against his ass, breath hot on his shoulder through the tee he was sleeping in.

Then Billy’s voice was less sure, quieter, still deep and rough with drowsiness and ten smokes a day, but wavering slightly. “This okay?”

“Yeah.” As a little kid, Steve had always been the type that a simple hug would stop him from crying. The same way that a quick hand squeeze from Nance used to comfort him, or a slap on the back from Dustin somehow always left him smiling. And now, with Hargrove, with Billy, plastered to his back, breathing slow into the back of Steve’s neck, the warm weight of him, had Steve feeling safer than he had in months. The rest he could worry about later.

Steve fell asleep.


	15. Beer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A thing loosely based on this post from @flippyspoon: https://flippyspoon.tumblr.com/post/184718922691/steve-has-billy-over-and-shotguns-a-beer-in-an

Billy woke up first. He was always up early after drinking; usually one of the first to pass out at a party, but the first one awake in the morning to make his escape. Only he wasn’t at a party this time, and the arm slung tight around his middle made escape pretty unlikely. He was in a bed that wasn’t his own, a slanting line of morning sunshine coming in through the window and hitting him square in the eye. His head was throbbing and his mouth tasted fucking awful, and it was too soon to say whether he was going to throw up or not. He took a deep breath in the hopes of clearing his head and immediately wished he hadn’t. The room smelt of beer sweat and sleep, a trace of coppertone from where he’d slept with his face smushed into his arm. He felt the shift and dip of weight behind him on the mattress, the even breaths meaning Harrington was still asleep.

Billy’d headed over to Harrington’s place last night for one sole reason – to fuck. Because, somehow, they hadn’t made it that far yet. They’d fooled around, sure. Made out a lot, in the break room at Scoops, the parking lot at the pool, behind the coconut shy at the shitty county fair. But not much more. And don’t get him wrong, it wouldn’t matter if they never did it – like it or not, it was too damn late and Steve Harrington was more important to him than a quick fuck. But he was getting real tired of his left hand, and every day left him more desperate to see what Steve’s face looked like when he came. He could picture it, had pictured it more than once when he’d shot his load, but he wanted to see Steve’s mouth drop open in pleasure, and know he was the one who’d made it happen.

He hadn’t bothered changing after work – though he had stopped to fuss over his hair – because he knew he was hot shit in his work gear, and knew Steve thought so too. Any time he brought the kids to the pool, his eyes barely left Billy. Not that Billy was any less unsubtle; he’d peer at Steve over his sunglasses, flex his arms more than was strictly necessary, sprawl out where he sat on the lifeguard chair, legs spread wide. One of the greatest pleasures Billy had encountered that long hot summer was sucking face with Harrington in the bathrooms at the pool while Steve muttered filthy things about his ass, gripped and kneaded at his thighs under shorts still damp with pool water. So he’d left his red shorts and uniform shirt on, even though they’d smelt of chlorine, because he’d thought it might help hide how nervous he was about it – from Harrington and himself – if he focused on looking hot as possible. Turned out he needn’t have bothered.

“Shit,” Harrington finally woke up, groaning into his pillow and eyes shut against the light.

“Morning, sunshine,” Billy said just to be a dick, but it didn’t quite work when his voice came out sounding like he’d swallowed a quart of gravel.

“Morning,” Steve squinted at him, half smiling and hair a disaster. It should have been awkward. Had it have been anyone else, Billy would have fled the moment he’d woken up. But that sleepy half smile was enough to blow away any embarrassment Billy might have felt, and covered up with anger or false disinterest, at they mess they’d made of last night. Billy would’ve kissed the shit out of him right then, if it wouldn’t have given too much away.

“Fuck, I’m hungover,” Steve yawned into the crease of his elbow, face half hidden. “Probably shouldn’t have moved on to the whiskey, huh.”

Oh. He’d forgotten about that. “Yeah, no shit.”

They were silent for a moment, just long enough for Billy to feel the stillness that’d come over Steve, too still to be sleep, as he thought through what he was about to say.  
“…I’m sorry, man.”

“What for, pretty boy?”

He shrugged, sheets slipping off his shoulder. “I ruined it. We were meant to… y’know.”

Billy snorted. It was his fault just as much as Harrington’s. Sure, Steve might have started it, bringing out two six packs and shotgunning one before Billy had even popped the tab, beer on his chin and smiling shyly like Billy should have been impressed. On reflection, he guessed Steve must have been nervous too. So Billy’d downed his can right after, easy as anything, pleased with himself for the laugh it’d gotten him from Harrington. Then Steve had grabbed another for himself and handed one to Billy, eyebrow raised in challenge and eyes bright. And Billy had never been good at turning down a challenge at the best of times, a chance to win at something, prove he was better. And Steve watching him expectantly, full of that fire, that old king Steve, pink in the face already and waiting for Billy to match him, was far from the best of times. And he was nervous, alright? It was a big deal. He actually cared about Harrington for fucks sake. A part of him was still convinced it was all some kind of joke, and Harrington was just waiting for the right moment to whip the rug out from under his feet and laugh at him for wanting him. He’d reasoned a drink might get him to chill. And boy, had it.

“You didn’t ruin it, Harrington,” he said. “I drank just as much as you did.” Circling thoughts of ‘impress Steve’ and ‘can’t lose’ wouldn’t let him stop. They’d eventually made it up to Steve’s room, after finishing the beers and knocking back a few mouthfuls of whiskey for good measure, and collapsed into messy giggling kisses, pawing at each other clumsily. He didn’t remember who passed out first – secretly he would have put money on himself given his track record – but the next thing he knew, it was morning, both of them still mostly dressed and very much un-fucked.

“Yeah, but – “

“Maybe it just wasn’t the right time, okay?”

“Oh.” Steve sounded upset. How someone could fit so much distress into one syllable was beyond him.

“Jesus Harrington, I didn’t mean – “ he huffed, frustrated. “Look, I want to fuck you,” he said, feeling his cheeks heat up, but enjoying the way Steve had turned to gape at him, “more than fuckin’ anything. But I think we maybe put a little too much pressure on ourselves, yknow?”

“Right.”

“I don’t want to force that kinda shit. Not when it’s with…” he hesitated, about to expose more of himself than he really wanted, “someone who matters.”

Steve was smiling again when he dared look up, adorable, and worth Billy throwing his heart on the line. “Look at you baby, giving out relationship advice. You gunna charge me for that?”

“You sayin’ we’re in a relationship?” Billy shot back before he could second guess himself.

“If you want,” Steve said quietly, real soft, like if he spoke too loud he’d scare Billy off.

Billy didn’t know what to say to that, so to avoid embarrassing himself by saying something sappier than he already had, he rolled himself over to haul Steve in for what was probably a fucking terrible tasting kiss, all stale beer and morning breath. Steve didn’t seem that bothered though, wrapped an arm around Billy’s shoulder and tangled his fingers in his hair to keep him close, scratched little circles on his scalp in a way that made Billy want to purr like a goddamn cat.

“So no pressure, yeah?” Steve looked up at him, soft and sleepy and perfect.

“Mm.” Billy bumped their noses together, wondered if they could stay like this all day. Fuck it, forever.

“Great, glad that’s settled. Now go brush your teeth Hargrove, Jesus.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello yes this feels a bit ooc and took a turn I wasn’t planning, but I’m tired. Also I was still hung up on those pics of Dacre could you tell.


	16. Dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who else is feeling emo about Billiam Hargrove in this Chili’s tonight? Really tiny post monster fluffy future fic thing???

He still dreamt of it, sometimes. Of the beach and the black spaces in between, the bright spots it’d tantalised him with to distract from the havoc his body was wreaking without his permission, and the girl who’d come to stop it.

It wasn’t until afterwards that he’d realised it had never shown him anything he hadn’t already witnessed. Apparently it didn’t have the ability to make up something completely new to taunt him with, it just distorted the things already in his head. A fast ticking slideshow of slightly off-key memories; a borrowed surfboard and little league games, bleached gold sand and his mother’s smile, faded as a sun-stained photograph. His father, impassively furious and ready to strike, Max’s face flushed with anger at the disappointment of a brother he’d turned out to be. Harrington. At the pool, at school, the quarry and at Scoops, where Billy had watched him and wondered if he’d taste like cream soda.  
In the end, it turned out to have the opposite effect to what Billy thought the creature had intended. Instead of making him want to give in and let it have him by laying out everything he could never have and everything he was stuck with, it made him want to fuckin’ fight. Fight to wipe that look off his dad’s face, for Max to know he didn’t hate her, to find out if Harrington really did taste like cream soda. Or maybe, as pathetic as it sounded, for him to smile. No one ever smiled at Billy and fucking meant it.

He’d been so far gone when they’d helped rid him of it, so exhausted by his efforts at shaking off the thing using his body, that he hadn’t even known it was over. Hadn’t felt a thing. Just woken up one morning fresh as a fuckin’ daisy. Or not exactly; he’d felt like he had the hangover from hell, but not like he’d been playing host to a monster from another dimension. He’d woken up and Harrington had been there, snoring, asleep at an awkward angle at the foot of the bed like he hadn’t meant to stay.

Over ten years later, and Harrington was still with him when he woke up in the mornings. Although after that first night, there’d been no reason for him to sleep at the foot of the bed again. The couch maybe, if they’d had a particularly ball-busting argument, but Billy usually left him the bed. He was heavy and sleep warm all along his back, arm a dead weight around Billy’s middle, snoring slightly. He always got congested in the spring and into the summer, when the pollen was at its worst.

“Morning, baby,” he said, thick with sleep, into the back of Billy’s neck. “You sleep okay?”

Most days, Billy would say yes, and most days that was the truth. Some days it wasn’t, but he’d roll over before Steve could figure him out, and distract him with a kiss. Steve didn’t taste like cream soda. Steve tasted the same as he did; morning breath after a late night of beer and shared cigarettes. They were getting too old for that shit. Billy had work in an hour.

Some days he slept too badly to hide it, would wake up teary and shaking, and angry that it still fucked him up so bad after so many years. A voice very much like his dear old dad’s telling him how pathetic that was. On mornings like that, Steve would call up his work to tell them Billy wouldn’t be coming in. Sometimes it was Billy calling in for Steve – they both had their share of bad nights. Sometimes both of them were kept awake by the past, and spent the next day tired and red-eyed and snapping at each other.

But days like that were infrequent now, not like those first few months when everything was still so fresh, not yet scabbed over, and both of them a little scared of each other. Scared of what that fear meant. By the time evening rolled around, Billy would have crept back to Steve’s side – or Steve to Billy’s – dishing out little kisses and tired mumbles of apology, and they’d fall asleep together, tangled up and too warm.

He still dreamt about it sometimes, but it was okay. Because Steve was always there when he woke up.


End file.
